I panicked when I lost my son at Disney World, but now I wish that I had flown home without him.
On September 5, 2019, Judith Cathie and her son Jayden Cathie were reported missing from Lake County, Illinois. While investigating, a detective found a journal from Judith. The following is a transcript of the journal. Being a single mom is hard. Very hard. I hate my job, I have a slew of late pickup charges from my son’s daycare, and my body has gone to shit from years of fast food dinners and alcohol abuse. Every day is a struggle. My mind is a prison cell, and I lost the key to the door so long ago that I don’t even care to look for it anymore. That is why when I won a trip to Disney World through my company’s annual raffle, I nearly cried tears of joy. Nothing good ever happens to my son and I. The list of our misfortunes are as long as my arm, and this trip provided us with the one thing that we thought we would never recover: hope. Hope not just for a fun week, but hope that maybe the perpetual muck that has overtaken our lives ever since my husband left us five years ago would finally start to dissipate. You can imagine my horror then when I lost my son during the final day of our trip. We were making our way over to Space Mountain, when suddenly I had to use the restroom. I told my son to sit on a nearby bench while I did my business, and then disappeared into the first clean stall I could find. When I exited the restroom a few moments later though, he was gone. Fear gripped me as I whirled my head around the scattered crowd, trying my best to locate him before he wandered out of sight. My efforts were futile though. I had a better chance of finding a winning lottery ticket plastered to my shoe then I did of locating my son among the hundreds of other eight-year-olds careening down the sidewalk. I spent the next five hours scouring the park in a panicked frenzy. No matter how hard I looked though, I couldn’t find him. Just as I was about to call the police, I found him sitting on the same bench that I had left him on earlier that day. He was wearing a full body Mickey Mouse costume, and I would’ve walked right past him if I hadn’t recognized the worn-out Scooby Doo backpack resting on his knees. I ran over to him and wrapped my arms around his head. The stiff ears of his Mickey Mouse mask dug into my ribs as I hugged him, but I was too overjoyed at his reappearance to let go. “Thank god I found you,” I said. “I thought somebody had stolen you.” His body was limp in my arms. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest against my thigh, I would’ve thought he was unconscious. “Where have you been? I swear I looked all over Magic Kingdom for you. And where did you get that Mickey Mouse costume?” He didn’t answer. It was at this point that I became concerned. My son is normally very talkative; it was unlike him to be so reserved, especially after such a traumatic event. “Why don’t you take off that mask? I want to see that you are ok.” I reached down to pull off his mask, but he swatted my hands away with such force I staggered back a step. Never before had he hit me. The blow surprised me so much that I stood there motionless on the sidewalk for almost a minute, unsure of how to respond. Eventually though I regained my wits and sat down on the bench next to him. “I know you are scared,” I said, “but everything is alright now. We’re together again. You’re safe.” Once again no answer. “Why aren’t you talking to me buddy? Are you hurt?” No answer. I tried for several more minutes to get him to respond, but I might as well have been talking to a mannequin. All he would do was sit there unmoving on the bench, staring off into the distance through his mouse eyes. The only time he would move was to swat my hands away every time I tried to remove his mask. We sat on the bench for over an hour before I grabbed his hand and led him back to our hotel room. Luckily he didn’t resist as I maneuvered him through crowd. To my surprise he followed me with dog-like docility, and even allowed me to tuck him into bed that night, Mickey Mouse costume and all. I debated that night whether to contact the park authorities about his disappearance (and stolen suit) but decided against it. My gut was telling me that I should, but I was just too exhausted to prolong the matter. He seemed relatively unharmed for one thing, and we had to get to the airport by six the next morning. Calling the authorities would potentially extend our stay, and I couldn’t afford to buy another pair of plane tickets. So I kept the matter to myself, and drifted off into a light sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. We arrived home around sunset the next afternoon. My son still wasn’t talking, and continued to swat my hands away every time I tried to remove his costume. At this point my concern skyrocketed. Not only was his behavior so bizarre, but he hadn’t eaten or drank anything in over a day. Unless he was sneaking food and water while I wasn’t looking, he had to be on the brink of dehydration. I decided to take him to the doctor early that next morning. Something terrible had obviously happened to him while he was missing, and I felt like a failure of mother for waiting so long to get him help. When we arrived at the doctor’s office he threw such a fit that the nurses had to restrain him. No matter how hard they tried to remove his mask though, he always found a way to counter their efforts. It was as if that thing was plastered onto his head. Eventually the doctor became so concerned that he decided to do an x-ray. He told me that it was the quickest way to assess his health through the costume, and that they would devise a plan while the x-ray processed to remove his mask. I thanked him for his help, and then watched as they escorted my son into another room. The doctor returned a few minutes later. His face was so pale I feared that he might pass out. “We finished the x-ray,” he said, voice shaky. “Thank goodness,” I said. “Is he alright?” The doctor stared at me for almost a minute without responding, hands shaking. “Is something wrong?” “His head and spinal cord are the only parts of him underneath the costume. The rest of his body is missing.” Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta